


Good day sunshine

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cats, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kittens, M/M, Mornings, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know something is incredibly wrong when you wake up suffocating because Robespierre is stepping on your face. </p><p>Especially when Robespierre happens to be furry. </p><p>And a girl. </p><p>But that’s the least which can happen. Enjolras is even more talented with resembling a stretching cat in the morning than the actual kitten itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good day sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God this is stupid. This is so stupid. I'm so sorry but I love kittens and I had to write this God I'm sorry for this pointless thing!

You know something is incredibly wrong when you wake up suffocating because Robespierre is stepping on your face.

 

Especially when Robespierre happens to be furry.

 

And a girl.

 

But that’s the least which can happen. Enjolras is even more talented with resembling a stretching cat in the morning than the actual kitten itself.

 

Enjolras is a terrible, horrible sleeper. He clings on him like a baby and steals all the covers, turning Grantaire into an ice cube while he continues sleeping serenely with his mouth open. He kicks violently, bruising Grantaire’s calves even more than drunken boxing with Bahorel ever does. When he has a passionate revolutionary dream, -which isn’t a rare occurrence at all- he kicks so much that he might even throw him off the bed. Sometimes he even gives speeches in his sleep.

 

No matter how difficult it’s always been for Enjolras to wake up in the mornings, he always used to wake up earlier than Grantaire. As a reminiscence of his rather frequent horrible hangovers, the man always loved to benefit from the lack of responsibilities he usually had with staying in bed while Enjolras took his shower, the rhythmical sound of the water being his lullaby and did only open a bleary eye when Enjolras decided to use his most powerful weapon: to stand humming in front of his wardrobe, threatening openly for the possibility of getting dressed and covering this glorious body with unnecessary pieces of –mostly red- fabric. Grantaire simply could not allow this in any way.

 

That, until Robespierre came, a few weeks ago. Now they both wake up with her paws on their faces and her pleading meowing near their ears.

 

Grantaire groans and opens his eyes, placing his hands underneath the tiny kitten’s belly and raising it from his face. He can feel her rapid heartbeat against his palm as he turns on his side and places her on the pillow between Enjolras blond head and his own to face him, with her huge green eyes. Hiding half of his face in the pillow, his eyes aching from sleep, he runs his fingers through the white and orange fur. Robespierre is tiny, she almost fits in Grantaire’s hand, and she finds immense fun in punching said hand with either her paws or her head. She still looks sleepy, narrowing her eyes and opening her mouth widely to yawn, showing a set of tiny sharp teeth and Grantaire finds her simply precious.

 

Giving him a mischievous look behind that quirky pink nose of hers, she turns around on the pillow and climbs on Enjolras’ nape, hiding in a nest of golden curls as the man is sleeping with his face hidden in the pillow. Enjolras doesn’t stir, so an impatient Robespierre pulls some golden locks between her paws and meows. Finally Enjolras decides to stir with a groan and turn his head around. Without even opening his eyes, his fingers come to scratch the kitten’s back, which is now nuzzling her nose in his cheek.

 

Before Enjolras even wakes up properly, Robespierre gives a jump from the bed and they can hear her tiny feet thumping on the wooden floor, outside the bedroom.

 

The white curtains are drawn but the sun is entering through the sheer fabric, bathing Enjolras’ beautiful, sleeping form, and glorious golden locks in glowing light. He can hear the traffic from outside, some voices underneath the building and he imagines the street outside Enjolras’ house, the pretty boulangerie with the wonderful, warm baguettes and the bicycles with the clear sound of the bells. Grantaire smiles. He hardly misses the apartment he used to share with Feuilly and Jehan at all. It’s true that it was a part of him, it  _was him,_ but now canvases and buckets of paint are sprawled all around the shining wooden floor of Enjolras’ living room –which isn’t full of empty beer bottles and pizza boxes-, his green boxers with the absinthe fairies are hanging all around the clean, tidy bedroom, and his toothbrush and shaving machine are on the shelf of the bathroom mirror. It doesn’t smell of alcohol, but no matter it may seem to believe, it’s his home now.

 

He decides to get up and surprise Enjolras with some coffee –he adores Grantaire’s coffee-, but before he even managed to sit up, a strong arm is tightly wrapped around his naked waist, pulling him back to bed.

 

He turns his head bemused, only to find Enjolras, with his head hidden in the pillow, his shoulder blades peeking as he sleeps on his stomach, his lower back making a smooth curve as his body is almost uncovered, limbs and hips tangled between a pool of white sheets. He looks seemingly asleep, apart from that arm which is pulling him back, bearing huge resemblance to an octopus’ tentacle.

 

“Enjolras?” he says softly, and receives no sound in response. “Sunshine?” he repeats in a tender, teasing tone, and this time succeeds to receive nothing but a whimper.

 

“You want coffee, don’t you?” he starts reasoning. “Well, of course you want coffee; you’re severely addicted to caffeine, much to Joly’s dismay, that’s why you act like a wasted hyperventilating squirrel during most of the meetings.” He receives no answer. “I won’t be able to make you coffee –or feed Robespierre, for that matter-, if you don’t leave me.”

 

Another whimper, as Enjolras stirs non-willingly.

 

“Enjolras, let me go…”

 

“No…” growls Enjolras in a sleepy voice, pulling Grantaire closer to him and back to bed, nuzzling his nose in the crook of his neck.

 

Grantaire lies back, leaving a small sigh. “So will you… will you open your eyes, my precious God of Sun?”

 

“ _Nmnoo_ …” he moans again, his voice muffled as he leans even further against Grantaire’s neck.

 

Grantaire tries to turn on his side and kiss his lover’s shoulder but Enjolras growls another throaty, grumpy “ _No_.”

 

“Will you at least let me reach for my phone? I need to occupy myself somehow if you don’t seem keen to do anything but sleep, maybe watch some porn.” That might or might not be a lie, Grantaire would rather occupy himself with nothing but staring at Enjolras’ body, his strong arms hugging the pillow –and smothering him at the same time-, his pale skin in the sunlight, the shut, peaceful eyes and the half open red lips –it doesn’t even matter if he happened to be drooling during the night, they’re still gorgeous.

 

Enjolras whimpers again, leaving something which can pretty much be summed up to  _nnnrghkln_ , and proceeds to completely entrapping Grantaire, wrapping his legs around the man’s thigh and coming to rest his head on his chest. His hair faintly smells of his coconut shampoo, mixed with the flowery scent of the sheets and of  _morning_. Suddenly Grantaire has no urge of abandoning the safety of his sheets and mattress. Enjolras is radiating warmth, and his body pressed on his own might take away his ability to breathe properly, but then again, isn’t that Enjolras’ favorite hobby in first place?

 

Grantaire leans back in the mattress and holds Enjolras’ head tightly on his chest, against his calm, rhythmical heartbeat. He runs his fingers through his soft, blond curls absent-mindedly and he swears he can hear him purr at some point, in a way which would make Robespierre proud.

 

When Grantaire first brought the tiny kitten home, soaked wet and shivering in the pocket of his hoodie, scared, cold and lost, Enjolras had seriously freaked out. Of course he wouldn’t send a small animal back in the rain, he called Combeferre to come and help it as much as he could, but on no account did he seem eager to keep it. He had called Joly who he knew loved cats to see if he could have him, but apparently Bossuet’s allergies were already too bad to keep a second cat. Jehan and Courfeyrac already had a cat -who thought he was a dog- and they weren’t sure they could raise a second one –Prouvaire forgot to eat himself most of the time, throughout his bouts of daydreaming-, Éponine didn’t have time to even feed her brother, what with her job, and concluding, no one of their friends could keep the tiny furry ball.

 

The kitten turned out to be incredibly restless and naughty. It loved to punch people’s hands with its paws, to meow in a rather revolutionary manner with all the strength of its little lungs and to fall on its back while people rubbed its belly. In other words, the kitten bore far too many similarities with Enjolras (maybe apart from occupying Combeferre’s right slipper, fighting with the people in the TV and becoming delirious in front of the mirror, but Enjolras did have his confused moments, plus most of the time he wished he could give a lesson to all those people in the TV), that the man grew afraid of being replaced both in the house and in Grantaire’s heart.

 

 “Every creature that tears my Philosophy essay to shreds should better find its way outside my apartment!  _Now_!” He said grumpily.

 

Grantaire shrugged his shoulders while scratching the back of the kitten’s ears. “Who says it wasn’t me? I know that essay was on Montesquieu.”

 

“I said _every_ creature! Including you! I swear, this animal is a real terrorist!”

 

“It’s only a lively little dude, look at him, aren’t you  _adorable_? Who is papa’s boy?” he cooed.

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Take your  _Robespierre_ and go burn Jehan’s place down! You can ridiculously baby talk to him as much as you want there, with Courfeyrac’s blessings!”

 

“How dare you refer to my boy with such a name?” he hid the kitten under his hands protectively. “He never showed any urges to start bloodbaths!”

 

“I’m sure he would,” snorted Enjolras. “He’d easily suck my breath in my sleep in order to confiscate you for his own!”

 

Enjolras then sat besides Grantaire, and the kitten escaped from Grantaire’s grip to climb on Enjolras’ lap and cuddle there, until it fell asleep. Enjolras’ fingers hesitantly came to stroke the soft, warm fur.

 

That was when they fell in love.

 

Needless to say, despite the fact that there were some strong oppositions towards Robespierre as a historical figure, the name remained.

 

And soon they found out Robespierre was not a dude, but a dudette. ( _Fuck your social gender roles! Every girl can be a Jacobin if she wants to!_ )

 

Suddenly Enjolras pulls him out of his thoughts, as he presses his lips on the hollow of his throat, just above his collarbone. Grantaire smiles in surprise. “Well, good morning!” he murmurs.

 

“Good morning,” says Enjolras hoarsely against his neck, nuzzling and sucking softly.

 

“Apollo?” asks Grantaire, but receiving no other answer than the man’s tongue and teeth on his skin, he leans back into the embrace and starts savoring the unexpected but completely welcome attention he’s receiving. Soon, he let a small moan and ran his fingers through the blond hair, wrapping them around the curls and pushing him closer. Enjolras raises his eyes and they meet with Grantaire’s. He looks sleepy, the kiss is slow and lazy when their lips meet, but it’s sweet and passionate at the same time, tasting of sweat and morning and intimacy. Grantaire shuts his eyes and parts his lips a little more, allowing the other man’s tongue to be pressed against his mouth. He rolls to his side and tops Enjolras, leaving a small sigh when the other man’s hand comes to rest on his bare waist. He takes his time to explore his lover’s mouth once again, licking and receiving a moan when he bites softly on his lower lip. They continue kissing and rolling in the sheets until they’re both panting. Then, all of a sudden, after nibbling on his earlobe for a while, Enjolras gets up, leaving him dumbstruck.

 

“Hey,” Grantaire protests hoarsely, “where do you think you’re going?”

 

“Someone needs to feed that poor kitten, don’t you think?” Enjolras says teasingly as he wears a t-shirt and his glasses with the thick, black skeleton. Grantaire loves Enjolras without his lenses on. That way he looks much more vulnerable and real, much more  _human_ and Grantaire can’t stop staring at him when he studies, barefoot and curled on the couch with his computer on his lap, occasionally frowning his brow and biting his lower lip in concentration.

 

Grantaire stretches his legs once again and lazily makes his way to the kitchen after throwing a t-shirt on. Enjolras has already put some milk in a bowl and Robespierre is licking noisily. He is kneeled near the kitten, cooing at her adorably.

 

Grantaire rests lazily on the door admiring them before walking to the coffee machine. “Who is baby-talking now?” He asks with his mocking-irritated voice.

 

Enjolras smiles softly and gets up. “You know I love Robespierre,” he murmurs, throwing an arm around his waist from behind and nuzzling his nose in his shoulder.

 

“Of course you do, he’s our lovechild after all!” he receives a playful ruffle on his hair.

 

“Are you making my favorite coffee?” he whispers against his skin.

 

“I might be,” Grantaire tries to hide a smile. “But you smell of toothpaste. How the hell did you manage to brush your teeth and put Robespierre’s milk before I even got up from bed?”

 

The scent of coffee is strong and meddles with Enjolras’ intoxicating mixture of flowers and toothpaste. “That's a skill. You're either born with it or not. I decided to be productive right now so that I could spend the rest of my day lazily, with you…” he mutters, “and our lovechild.”

 

“I love your way of thinking,” murmurs Grantaire, turning his head around to press his lips on Enjolras’ own. “I love everything you do, actually.”

 

“I may have noticed,” whispers Enjolras against his lips, pulling him closer. He doesn’t say  _I love you_ , not yet. But Grantaire knows, Grantaire understands, and now that Robespierre meows pleading for attention, with those huge green eyes of hers staring at them, and Enjolras chuckles, smelling so lovely and wearing his glasses, Grantaire just  _knows_ that’s more than enough.


End file.
